


[How to Remove] The Empress' New Clothes

by subarusapphic



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Body Worship, Dominant!Reader, F/M, Filth with Feelings, Fluff, Fluff and Smut, Light Dom/sub, Married Couple, Married Life, Reader-Insert, Religious Imagery & Symbolism, Smut, Submissive!Crowley (Supernatural), eh it's pretty spicy, nothing too too raunchy, reader is the queen of hell now, smut ish actually??, you both are EVIL
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-21
Updated: 2021-01-21
Packaged: 2021-03-12 18:34:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,272
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28889931
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/subarusapphic/pseuds/subarusapphic
Summary: Upon your first day as the rightful Queen of Hell, your husband insists he craft you a new wardrobe. You’d never really had nice clothes before.
Relationships: Crowley (Supernatural) & Original Character(s), Crowley (Supernatural) & You, Crowley (Supernatural)/Original Female Character(s), Crowley (Supernatural)/You
Comments: 4
Kudos: 13





	[How to Remove] The Empress' New Clothes

**Author's Note:**

  * For [agent221b](https://archiveofourown.org/users/agent221b/gifts).



> Hey folks - Welcome to my first *serious* work! This fic is a VERY BELATED gift for my irl bff, Izzy. She wanted a reader-insert w/ Crowley, so how could I say no? (Be frickin nice please, this is my first try at this sort of narrative). I realise this one is kinda boring and wicked fruity, but I gave it my best effort. Enjoy!

You’d be damn lying if you ever told a single soul that your favourite part about wearing the clothes your husband picked out for you each morning _wasn’t_ when he took you out of them each evening. 

Upon the eve of your union, Crowley insisted upon a complete change in your wardrobe. Gone were the days of jeans and sensible tees and shoes that lacked any sort of fashionable flair. Of course, he appreciated your sense of… style, while you walked the Earth, but announcing the True Queen of Hell to his—soon to be your own—loyal subjects would be done with unbridled panache.

“You know I worship you, my love, body and soul, and all that. _But_ ,” Crowley had confessed, your fingers dancing through the hairs on his sweaty chest after the steamy consummation of your marriage had concluded. Well, round one, at least. “I _do_ have a reputation to maintain.”

You smirk, your breath hot and beckoning against the side of his face. “How does suddenly altering my appearance make your little demons more obedient? Seems a tad shallow, if you ask me…” 

The King tuts playfully, noting the wry air that your sardonic remark floated upon. You knew your Crowley was many things, but superficial had stolen the last place on such a list. “ _Our_ little demons, your Highness!” he exclaims. “With the declaration of a new ruler, Hell will be turning to _you_ for what’s ‘in’ and ‘out,’ darling. I’ll be damned if every miserable soul that suffers in our kingdom doesn’t acknowledge their reigning Queen for the radiant temptress she is~”

“You already _are_ damned, you dummy,” you jab, removing your hand from his pectus to rest your head in the space where his neck met his shoulder. “And so am I, for that matter. What a pair we two are, huh?”

He’d asked you once if you’d ever regretted surrendering your mortality in order to be with him. When the surface world had nothing more to offer you, when you’d lost everyone and everything that had ever held any semblance of comfort to you at the tainted hands of those cursed Winchesters, you knew what you had to do to find peace. Despite your recent death, you had never felt more alive than in the loving embrace of the only man who’d ever given you the time of day to venerate you for all that you stood for. Perhaps no longer a man, but a monster—a _King!_ The most vile creatures would bow their heads in reverence to him, and now that the King himself has taken a bride, those same heads would jolt in dread when you so much as spat in their general direction. So, no, the only regret you may have considered harbouring was for yourself, for not considering such a drastic option far sooner.

Why would anyone enter Heaven and be a lowly, quiet servant to a neglectful God when you could so easily have sovereignty over Hell?

The outside of Crowley’s hand runs up and down along your bare spine, sending sensual shivers throughout your lifelessly intact vessel. “So, you’ll allow me the honour of picking out a few things for you to consider wearing?”

You didn’t think it was humanly possible to get a headache from rolling your eyes, but here you were... And, then again, you weren’t even technically _human_ anymore. Sighing, you plant a quick kiss to the side of his nose. “If it means we can make love til the cows come home, I just _might_ consider your proposition.”

“You drive a hard bargain, pet,” his voice enchanting, a rumbling growl you knew would ignite the flames of passion anew. He always knew just what to say to make you smile that million-dollar smile. 

You let your somewhat long nails trace over the space between his eyebrows, up and down, up and down, watching languidly as his eyelashes nearly flutter shut all the way. Were the moment any more quiet, you would swear on your life that you could hear him purr. “Mm, but you’ll always be the one on my leash, won’t you, husband?”

When your lips meet as one, somewhere in the distance it’s as if fireworks of the overly-enthused-American-holiday degree go off in the pit of your collective stomach. To find burning, carnal adoration in a place associated with despair and hopelessness was never what you expected to get out of your life, and yet you would rather perish than be anywhere but with him, _really_ with him, in that moment. Where the wicked went to rot, you called home. 

Such poesy would’ve made you sick while you lived, but now you were far too horny and stupidly, giddily happy to even consider any other reality than the one where you copulated with the King of Hell upon the finest silken bedsheets, the moon’s fertile beams of light your only source of guidance. The same man who could snap his fingers and murders hundreds, thousands, just to get what he wanted only bowed to one woman. A godless man who worshipped your body as if crafted by Christ Himself. Each curve, each dimple, each societal “imperfection” of your physique liquified to wine beneath his nipping tongue, and Lord, was Crowley thankful his golden chalice had yet to runneth empty.

_You_. 

When he begins to drowsily nuzzle your bosom you both decide to turn in. In the glow of the satellite, the healthy sweat you’d earned after such zealous fucking makes you both appear to sparkle. Were this any other evening, his scruffy chin against the softness of your naked breasts would’ve made you giggle and try to push him away, but it isn’t long before sleep consumes him and your left with a snoring husband atop your dewey chest.

Crowley’s beloved takes a moment to admire how at peace the King of Hell himself appears in such a quiet state. Your wedding band shimmers, a symbol of yet another facet in which your two souls have molded together as one. Truly the “fuck you” of the millennia, to confess your adoration to another under the name of a God who would deem you both monsters. Who was to say monsters didn’t deserve the promise of eternal love and companionship, after all? 

Certainly _not_ God. 

* * *

“Crowley, darling?”

The King in question sat at a grandiose mahogany desk at the centre of your bedroom, scribbling on a somewhat lengthy piece of paper. Busy work that one of his lowly demons had done improperly and were (rightfully) vaporised for. He was more than pleased to hear you call his name, his eyes shooting up from the place they’d been glued to prior, focusing on life’s more important matters. With a tender gaze he fixates upon you, clumsily waltzing closer to him in one of the many gowns he’d designed specifically for you. Your first official day as Queen was approaching and you had no clue what exactly to expect duty-wise, but Crowley knew for certain you’d be a vision whilst snapping necks and writing laws and performing other royal duties.

“Ravishing,” is all your husband mutters. He stands from his chair, taking up both of your cold hands in his own, holding you at an arm's length to get a full view of the dress. “You will be a vision to those sinners.” 

Drawing you closer, your barren neck exposed, he can’t resist kissing all along the space between your shoulder and jawline. You really weren't in the mood for this so early in the morning, this nonsensical, froofy dress had already taken up too much of your time and it appeared your man had no intentions of cooperating… It was beautiful, no doubts there. A velvety-slick forest-green number, you had to hold the thing up from the front, near your breasts, just to keep it from slipping off your shoulders. It nearly touched the floor, causing you to trip at least thrice on your way out of the bathroom. You never cared once for fancy clothes, but this was clearly important to Crowley, and it was harmless to indulge his interests of seeing you Vogued-up for his sole delight.

You sighed deep from your stomach, kindly nudging him away to face you head on. “I need you to zip me up, Crowley.”

Your husband tuts. “Not with that tone I bloody won’t—!”

“Don’t be a child,” you retort, giving the man a stern look, waiting with veiled patience before you slowly turn to show him your back. Any bra you had once own had been burned by royal decree—you _wished_ you were joking, but Crowley had nearly begged you. What better time to give it up than now?

His gruff hands begin to wander down your back, tracing your spine. Not a singular physical feature of Crowley’s would a soul consider to be supple or soft; the Winchesters and even your own Mother-in-Law wouldn’t bat an eyelash to deem him maleficent to the highest degree. His fingers were coursed and calloused over from years of labour and constant battle, and yet they descended to the zipper that sat above your bum with reverence. Each warm caress that grazed your bare back had ignited the inspiration to pounce and take him for a spin, but you had yet to see how he’d move forward from such a textbook example of domesticity. 

Taking ahold of the pearl-shaped zipper, he pulls upward, the contraption gliding smoothly along the arches of your voluptuous physicality. He closes each clasp with religious attention, ensuring it’d been done properly and comfortably. You knew he could have simply waved a hand and the dress would be done up, but Crowley insisted upon doing it himself. The King of Hell was many things, but a gentleman first and foremost: you were grateful that you were perhaps the only creature allowed to experience his kinder strokes.

A hum radiates from his sternum and you are finally able to let go of the front of the gown, your hands going limp to your sides. Your eyes meet, a meek playfulness still lingering in the King’s own. You never thought he was capable of such restraint.

You cup his face in your hands, using one of your thumbs to smooth over some scruff that had been swirled upward, against the grain of the rest of his beard. Kissing his nose, you straighten your back, momentarily making yourself taller than him (not that either of you minded such a fact). “Has anyone ever told you you have lovely hands, husband?”

“I take pride in my handiwork, Your Majesty,” he snarls with glee, wrapping both arms around your waist, tugging your burning nether regions Hellishly closer to his own. You aren’t phased as you feel those same, careful hands lurk about your buttocks, giving it a quick squeeze before properly kissing you for the first time that morning. 

A true romancer, your Crowley. His priorities _never_ strayed from the path of righteousness. 

He lovingly drags you to the mirror that you’d moved closer to a large, open window. Natural light pours in and engulfs you both in warm locks of shimmering golden flair. From behind, Crowley once again wraps his hands about your waist and rests his head upon your right shoulder, swaying back and forth as you both watch the reflection of yourselves blissfully, beautifully happy with the company of the other. The couple that would move mountains and drain the ocean blue for each other revelled in the calm of this cherished moment. No neerdowell mothers or Winchesters to draw them away from each other, just you two. King and Queen. Whole, complete. 

“As if you couldn’t possibly bewitch me anymore than you already have, wife,” the King confesses, freeing a hand from your middle and using it to sweep your long hair off of your back and over your shoulder, in order to satisfactorily pepper the nape of your neck with sweet kisses. 

You roll your eyes. “And how much longer do you plan on being a sap, huh?”

“Until you learn to see yourself the way I have always seen you and will til the day I keel over: _potent_ . Exquisite, irresistible… the sanctioned Queen of this wasteland. You are as merciless as they come, my darling, with a heart that can only bleed black. I adore you with all that I am. You will go down in _history_ as the most terrifying ruler Hell has yet to piss themselves over.”

You stare at the woman in the mirror and keep yourself from tearing up. You couldn’t believe there was finally another soul out there in the world who saw and respected your potential with such veneration and respect. 

“See yourself the way I do, [y/n]. You transfix my every thought and have done things to me no one has ever accomplished, what, with all the walls my blasted mother has forced me to erect.” He meets you at your side, a hand still firmly cemented to the small of your back, enthralled with the image of you yet to be presented to the outside world. “Glorious. Fit for a queen, wouldn’t you say?”

“You’ve done well by me, Crowley.” Your voice is sharp, laced in heat. “Now, help me out of this _stupid fucking dress_ and I may take it easy on that hide of yours I plan on tanning.”

With the raise of a bushy brow, you both realise your fun has just begun—Hell will be fine on her own for perhaps one more day. 

_“As my Queen commands.”_

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to all who gave this a read! Kudos, comments, bookmarks… please let me know you enjoyed this! I really appreciate you all either way. Stay healthy <3


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